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OLD CONCORD 



HER HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 



BY 



MARGARET SIDNEY 

Author of 
The Pettibone Name 
Five Little Peppers 
The Golden West 
Hester 

and others 






ILLUSTRATED 




BOSTON 
D LOTHROP CO M P A N Y 

FRANKLIN AND HAWLEY STREETS 



Copyright, 1888, 

BY 

D. Lothrop Company. 



>s 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Page. 



The site of the battle, showing the new bridge, the Minute Man, 
and the monument erected in 1836 ..... Frontis. 

The old Barrett house 

One corner of the " Muster Room " looking into kitchen . 

Site of the old house, where the British soldiers drank from the well, 
and " Tory Bliss " was seen ....... 

P\ac-simile of an old engraving of the centre of the town, showing 
the British soldiers destroying the stores in the " Ebby Hub- 
bard " house, by throwing them into the mill-pond 

The " Ebby Hubbard house " with " Ebby " at the gate 

Fac-simile of an old engraving showing the fight at the old North 
Bridge. The " Provincials " are on the further side 

The Virginia road .... . . 

Thoreau's birthplace ..... 

The tablet on the bluff ..... 

Meriam's corner ...... 

The old oven in the Meriam house . 

The originator of the Concord grape 

The study in the tower at " The Wayside " 

The old Minott house ..... 

The Thoreau corner ..... 

Shattuck's store and the public storehouse 

In the Concord Library ..... 

Mr. French's studio, where the Minute Man was modelled 

A corner of Mr. French's studio, showing his statue of Endvmion 

Thoreau's cave at Walden Pond ...... 



1 1 
19 



29 

35 

37 
40 

43 
46 

49 
53 
59 
62 
64 
67 
7i 
73 
79 



List of Illustrations. 



Visitors' memorial on the site of Thoreau's hut 
On the Concord River .... 

Fairhaven Bay ...... 

The tablet at Egg Rock .... 

The Elisha Jones house .... 

Avenue to the old Manse .... 

Hawthorne's grave in Sleepy Hollow 
Emerson's grave ..... 

The tablet on Keyes' Hill 
Original site of Harvard College 
The Hosmer house . . . . 

The Governor Winthrop house 



81 

87 
9i 

95 
98 

99 
102 

i°3 
106 
107 
1 1 1 

"3 



OLD CONCORD 

HER HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 



I. 

A spring day with free range through Old 
Concord; then, if ever, comes that peace of body 
and mind that seldom blesses mortals. It may be 
that the legendary aroma of the amicable settle- 
ment between our enterprising fathers and the 
original owners, has permeated the old town. 
Certain it is that over the homesteads and fields 
broods a deep and abiding content. When all 
things shall come up for a final adjustment in the 
last great Day of days, it seems that Concord might 
be gently passed by, and allowed amid general 
dissolution, to hold herself together untouched. 

Other places suggest the hand of the innovator, 
and the in-lettins: of a little vitalized blood; Con- 
cord never. Towns, villages and cities grow up 
and flourish around her borders, awakening no 

9 



io Old Concord. 

envy, not even surprise. She knows it all, being 
keenly alive to what is going on in Church or 
State. With a not unpleasing indifference to 
material progress, she adjusts her opinions on 
every subject, considers this adjustment final, and 
rests by her river, gentle, sluggish and persistent 
as herself. 

To accommodate the restless ones within her, it 

is said the neighboring city of B was founded. 

Hither go at early dawn, to seek a more stirring 
life among men, such as find their craving strong 
upon them, but they return at night, with a glad 
gleam in the eye, breathe " Concord " gratefully, 
and are satisfied. 

The best way to see Old Concord is to take a 
low phaeton and an easy-going horse ; with a 
superb indifference to time, to start without the 
worry of choosing your road. In any direction 
you will find rich fields. Arrange that the expedi- 
tion be made in a day with a smart turn-out, and 
you will return at night, your mind filled with a 
surprising array of tablets, inscriptions, a Minute 
Man, a battlefield, a glimpse it may be of the river, 
a curiosity shop, an alarming number of grave- 
yards, a sculptor's studio, homes of famous writers, 



Her Highways and Byways. i 3 

as badly mixed up as the children in "Pinafore;" 
and yon call all this Concord, and wonder that 
people make such a fuss over it, and why you took 
the trouble to come over to see it, and wish you 
had struck off something from the list your well- 
meaning friend in town had given you of things 
you must not fail to see, so that you might have 
reserved time " to do " Lexington also. 

No; the carriage must be easy to ride in, and 
easy to get out of, for frequent studies; it must 
only hold two persons, you and your appreciative 
friend, who beside a little knowledge of the town 
must also possess the rare gift of occasional silence- 
The horse must not be ambitious to get on. He 
must be reasonable, and not take it ill if occasionally 
you forget his existence and leave him tethered 
beyond the time, while you gather the secrets of 
the town. It will take several clays to " do " 
Concord in this manner ; lazy driving about 
here and there, as your spirit wills, interviewing 
the old residents, who, in the seclusion of their 
ancient homesteads, are delightful indeed, and 
most valuable to you in your search for authentic 
records. 

There are no hazy " may-bes " about the town 



14 Old Concord. 

and its history ; no elaborate dressing up of tradi- 
tion. Everything is as open as the day for your 
inspection, and the bright sunlight of truth shines 
through it all. You are left free to study, search, 
and explore to your heart's content. No one is 
surprised that you have come ; no one urges you 
to stay. Here, if in any spot on earth, each is mas- 
ter of his own movements, and lord of his time. 

The indulgent reader will kindly understand that 
these sketches will not attempt to re-write Concord's 
history, nor estimate anew her literary life. They 
will treat of some of the old town's unwritten spots, 
and much that might escape the general sight-seer. 
But any study of Concord, however slight and 
methodless, must contain much of the past cent- 
ury's life so closely intertwined with that now 
going on in these quiet streets, and recognize 
the subtle influence of the immortal three who 
wrote, lived and are sheltered here in death. 

No sound greets us other than the crooning and 
clucking of the fowls, picking their way across the 
road, one eye on the carriage and its occupants, 
and the occasional " caw " of the adventurous crow 
hungrily threatening the adjacent meadow. The 




ONE CORNER OK THE "MUSTER ROOM" LOOKING INTO KITCHEN. 



Her Highways and Byways, i 7 

old gnarled apple-trees cast picturesque shadows 
on the grass of the door yard, which is guiltless 
of fencing, and over the old homestead as guilt- 
less of paint. We draw rein ; quick footsteps are 
heard in the little entry ; the door is thrown back, 
and our hospitable hostess smilingly bids us 
enter. 

" Do let us see the ' Muster Room,' * " we cry, 
"and tell us the story there," for this is the Colonel 
James Barrett house, and we have come for the 
record of the old homestead during the activities 
of the eventful nineteenth of April, 1775. 

With the directness of a child, and the quick 
utterance of one who knows her story well, and 
enjoys telling it, Miss A. ushers us in, and offers 
for our acceptance high-backed rockers, but we 
hasten to the delightful window-niches, and very 
soon we are no longer living in to-day, but a past 
century claims us. 

Colonel James Barrett, her great-grandfather 
(whose father lived before him in this old house), 
was born in 17 10. He went through the French 



* The " Muster Room " is the lower front room as seen in the accompanying view of the 
house. It has two front windows and one on the side. The age of the house is not known: 
it has always been in the possession of the Barrett family. 



1 8 Old Concord. 

War, to come out with impaired health. In the 
threatening times preceding the historic nineteenth, 
the important duty of buying the provincial stores 
was entrusted to him ; he kept a portion of them 
carefully under his personal supervision. He held 
also the responsibility of examining the soldiers 
and of enlisting them. This work was always 
done in the room in which we were sitting. 
Hence its name — the "Muster Room." (There 
is a curious hole, shaped like a three-leaved clover, 
over the door; Miss A. pauses in her description, 
to tell us that her father said it was cut there when 
the house was built — for what purpose, other than 
ventilation, the visitor cannot imagine.) 

When the British soldiers (a detachment under 
Captain Parsons being sent to the Barrett house 
for the stores, and to take Colonel James) were 
heard coming, the old mother of the Colonel was 
alone in the house. The family had urged her to 
flee to a place of safety, but the plucky old lady 
said, " No, I can't live very long anyway, and I 
rather stay and see that they don't burn down the 
house and barn." 

One of the descendants of the Colonel gives it 
as his opinion that probably two companies were 



Her Highways and Byways. 



19 



sent to the house — about one hundred and fifty 
men. (Shattuck's History states three companies.) 

Captain Parsons stepped up, " Madam, I have 
orders to search your house." 

"You won't destroy private property?" asked 
the old lady, not flinching. 







SITE OF THE OLD HOUSE, WHERE THE BRITISH SOLDIERS DRANK 
FROM THE WELL. AND "TORY BLISS " WAS SEEN. 

" No ; we will not destroy private property, but 
we shall take anything and everything we find that 
can be made into ammunition, or any stores, and 
our orders are to take Colonel James Barrett." 

Early in the morning, when the first news of 



20 Old Concord. 

trouble to come, was heard, the men in the Barrett 
family ploughed up the land south of the old barn, 
in what is now the kitchen garden, a space of about 
thirty feet square, and while one led the oxen, the 
others followed and dropped into the furrow the 
muskets that were stored in the house — then went 
back and turned the earth over them, thus conceal- 
ing: them. They carried the musket balls into the 
attic and threw them into an empty barrel ; near 
by was another barrel about three quarters full of 
feathers ; these they turned over the balls. When 
searching the house, a soldier, spying the barrel, 
thought he had a prize, and thrust his hand 
into the feathers, stirring them up. An officer 
exclaimed crossly, " You fool you! What do you 
expect to find there ! " Jeers instead of com- 
mendation being the soldier's lot, he stopped short 
in his investigations, and our forefathers had cause 
to bless that laugh of the Briton. 

There was a little trunk holding some pewter 
plates, very near the barrel. A soldier seized one 
end of this, lifted it and cried out, " This is heavy," 
preparing to break it in. The Colonel's old mother 
said immediately, " This is private property ; it 
belongs to a maiden lady in the family" — so, 



Her Highways and Byways. 23 

according to the promise fortunately secured from 
the commander, it remained undisturbed. 

On the first alarm, the Colonel's son Stephen 
(who, the family record in the old Bible tells us, 
was born in 1750) was sent to Price Place (the 
cross roads where four roads meet, now called 
Prison Station) to tell the minute men who were 
hurrying from Stow and Harvard, and the vicinity, 
not to go down the road by the Barrett House, 
but to take the sreat road into town to the North 
Bridge. How long he waited at his post, tradition 
saith not, but when he came back he passed around 
the house and entered the kitchen door. A British 
officer met him as his foot crossed the threshold, 
laid his hand on the young mans shoulder, and 
said, " I have orders to take you in irons to 
England." 

His quick-witted grandmother started up and 
cried : " No, this is my grandson. This is not 
Colonel James Barrett ; you may take him if you 
can find him." 

The soldiers, hungry and defiant, asked the old 
lady for something to eat. She, with manner as 
kindly as if ministering to the necessities of friends, 
brought out pans of milk and set before them, ac- 



24 Old Concord. 

companied by sweet loaves of brown bread, saying, 
" We are commanded in the Bible to feed our ene- 
mies." After they had eaten the bread and milk, 
one soldier offered her money. She refused with 
dignity, saying, " It is the price of blood." He 
then threw it into her lap. 

The old barn that was then standing, was about 
forty feet distant from the house. The lane was 
the same as the present driveway, which is quite 
close to the homestead. The soldiers were going 
to burn the gun carriages there (the best ones had 
been saved by carrying them to Spruce gutter), but 
the old lady begged them not to do so, for she 
feared they would set fire to the barn. Her pluck 
had conquered their respect, and her kindness had 
made them gentle ; and they drew them to the 
side of the corn barn, a small building about ten 
feet square, nearer to the road, and close to the 
lane. Here they had their conflagration to suit 
themselves. 

The tradition is that one of the soldiers who 
searched the house came back and stayed several 
weeks with Colonel James. His name is believed 
to be Trott. 

And now Miss A.'s voice held a tremor of tender 



Her Highways and Byways. 



25 



sentiment as she related the story of the pretty 
daughter of the house of Barrett. Milicent was 
the granddaughter of Colonel James, the daughter 
of his son James who married and settled in the 




THE "EBBY HUBBARD HOUSE" WITH " EBBY " AT THE GAIL. 



next house toward Price Place. Milly, being 
young and pretty, it must be acknowledged, had 
learned how to coquette, and, so the story goes, 
had captivated, while on a visit to relatives in 
Cambridge, the hearts of some British soldiers 



26 Old Concord. 

whom she met in the cotillion and minuet, the 
dances of the day, especially fascinating one of 
the officers. 

She used to tease him, woman-like, to tell her 
how they managed their military affairs, and how 
they made their cartridges. 

He, man-like, told her the manner in which they 
made cartridges, adding if they should find out in 
England that he had given her the secret, he would, 
on his return, lose his head. (But it seems he had 
already lost that ! ) 

After the eventful nineteenth of April, she came 
home to her father's house and, woman-like again, 
at once proceeded to put her knowledge into 
2.ood results. She slathered all her mates about 
her, and told them the secret ; and busily the 
young fingers flew, forming after the directions 
given by her British swain, the cartridges that were 
to save her brave countrymen. The scissors that 
she used were in the Old South Meeting House, 
but have been given to the Concord Library by a 
cousin of the heroine. 

The shadows on the grass are lengthening fast; 
the fowls that have been so noisily busy, begin to 
trail back across the road, thinking of twilight and 



Her Highways and Byways. 27 

rest, when we come into the present century once 
more, and realize that we must leave the charming- 
old house. 

• " But first you must hear the story of that knoll 
yonder," cries Miss A., pointing out the side win- 
dow. We can see nothing but some trees in the 
distance, and we say so. 

" It is the site of another stopping-place of the 
British soldiers," she said in her quick, earnest way, 
determined to leave nothing untold that we miffht 

o o 

need to know. " At that time there was on the 
rise of ground next to this homestead a house 
occupied by Samuel Barrett and family. He was 
the only gunsmith living in this vicinity, and made 
the flint-lock guns for the minute men. It is said 
that at early dawn of the nineteenth of April a 
man on horseback, supposed to be ' Tory Bliss,' 
stopped by this old house, and pointed significantly 
to Colonel James Barrett's house. 

" There was a well near the dwelling at the foot 
of the tree. Here the British soldiers stopped and 
took long refreshing draughts ; as they drank, a 
woman in the house held up one of the children to 
let him see the troops. 

" Tradition says," continued Miss A., " an old 



28 Old Concord. 

man in the family who was down in the village 
that morning:, in the midst of the sudden tumult 
when those quiet farmers became determined fight- 
ers, expressed himself very plainly about the British ; 
instantly a rough soldier threatened to kill him — 
to be met with the reply, ' There is no need of 
your doing that, for the Lord will save you the 
trouble in a very short time, for I am too old to 
live long.'" 

We seem to be hearing the fearless words of the 
old patriot as we drive by the quiet meadows, so 
eloquent of deeds. We have dropped helplessly 
into the past. Every inch of ground traversed 
brings us nearer to a mine of history and tradition 
— the town's centre. 

The sites of the mill-pond, the mill, the old 
block-house and town-house, are now covered by 
the business of the town. Trade has taken pos- 
session of historic ground. To this centre, where 
the throbbing secrets of those perilous times were 
whispered with bated breath, the farmer of to-day 
comes to talk over, at the post-office and the store, 
the affairs of the whole world, discussed in the last 
newspaper. 

The " Ebby Hubbard house," as it was called, 



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Her Highways and Byways. 31 

was beyond the corner on Walden street. Here 
was a large quantity of grain and ammunition 
stored on the nineteenth of April, which the 
British destroyed by throwing into the mill-pond. 
Malt was made on the Hubbard place; the old 
malt-house at the end of the house proper, being 
blown clown in the September gale ; the house 
was pulled down in 1874. The old homestead 
from the first sheltered a patriotism beyond ques- 
tion ; for years after when Ebenezer, or " Ebby," 
the name he carried among the townspeople, inher- 
ited the old place, he saved every cent that was 
possible from his hard earnings, to accomplish his 
cherished desire that a suitable memorial should 
mark the spot where the Provincials stood on the 
day of the fight, and that the old North Bridge 
should be replaced by a fitting structure. He died 
as he lived, alone ; the neighbors found him sitting 
in his chair one morning, but the old patriot had 
passed on. This was in 1870. Carrying out the 
provisions of his will, the year 1875 saw the Minute 
Man "telling the story in granite and bronze " to 
an eager multitude who thronged the new North 
Bridge to honor the nation's birthplace. 

While one detachment of the British soldiers 



32 Old Concord. 

was thus destroying the stores taken from the 
"Ebby Hubbard" house, a second was sent to 
Colonel James Barrett's house, a third was guard- 
ing the Old South Bridge (the site of the present 
Fitchburg R. R. bridge on Main street), and the 
fourth was at the North Bridge. 

The Mill-pond occupied the meadow between 
Heywood street (then " Potter's Lane " ) and the 
Mill-dam and Lexington and Walden streets ; the 
site of the old mill beino- now covered bv the gro- 

O •CD 

eery store. Traditions linger around the old mill. 
One is the following: — 

When the soldiers entered to search for stores, 
the miller put each hand on a barrel of meal, say- 
ing, " This is my property, and you have no orders 
to disturb private property," thereby saving by his 
self-possession much that was intrusted to his 
care. It appears, in reviewing the history of Old 
Concord, that all the people were quick-witted on 
that eventful nineteenth of April. All honor to 
the minute men, and brave embattled farmers, but 
we must also acknowledge that the ready tact and 
sturdy fearlessness of those who went not up to 
battle helped " to hold the town that day." 



II. 



Shut in by the Bedford thoroughfare and the 
turnpike running from Concord to Lexington, is a 
thread of a road. As it runs away from either of 
the highways which it connects, it seems to delight 
in nothing so much as executing a series of curves, 
winding in and out among the fields, and around 
an occasional rocky ledge, with indifference to the 
order a well-behaved road would be supposed to 
observe. It is a road run riot. And whoever 
drives down its alder and birch-bordered length, 
or knows its beauty enough to prefer a walk 
through it, feels at once as frolicsome and care- 
free as the wayfaring itself. 

It suggests (he antics of a lamb, or the fresh 
joyousness of a child, with his hands full of daisies, 
in a sweet English lane. 

The ideal of quiet; up-springing life healthful 
and luxuriant, yet abounds on all sides. There is 
plenty of enterprise in the farms stretching off on 



34 Old Concoj-d. 

either hand; all things blossoming and giving 
fruit with evidence of being well cared for. 

Youne trees assert themselves most pictur- 
esquely in that old gnarled orchard back of yon- 
der stone wall. The very bushes by the roadside, 
based by the clumps of ferns, grow greener, sweeter 
and more wholesome than in any other road of our 
acquaintance. How inexpressibly fresh the air! 

Long ago, so one is told by the " oldest inhabi- 
tant " (that convenient individual who shoulders all 
our slips in accuracy), a negro slave, freed and sent 
to Boston by his master, built a little cabin on the 
plains, as the open fields were then called. He 
was known to his townsfolk as " Old Virginia." 
At this time it was a mere footpath that ran by 
the door of the little cabin, and it soon became, in 
village parlance, the " Old Virginia Lane," which 
name it retained for many years after the town had 
widened it. 

It is at times so narrow, and it has acquired 
such a trick of doubling and twisting, that the 
traveler a-oimr from the Bedford road is not sur- 
prised to come suddenly upon a small house with 
its adjacent barn that appears to block his progress, 
sueeestino; the unpleasant thought that he has 



Her Highways and Byways. 



37 



mistaken his way, and is after all making: straight 
into somebody's door-yard. A few steps, however, 
and the road opens again to his encouraged view 
around the house, into apparently endless windings. 
A tidy little homestead of the pattern so common 




THOREAU'S BIRTHPLACE. 



in New England as to be describable by the hun- 
dred, meets us at the gentle slope ; and presently 
we come upon two poplars gaunt and grim, seem- 
ing to say, "we guarded the homestead that you 
seek." 



38 Old Concord. 

" We must believe them," we exclaim, and draw 
rein, to pay tribute of respect to their undoubted 
connection with Thoreau. We are delighted to 
find it all true; that the house in which Thoreau 
was born, was moved some time afterward from 
the shelter of the poplars, to its present position of 
treeless waste. 

A little more of doubling: and winding", and we 
see the house, an ugly, square flat-faced domicile, 
given up to a foreign element that swarms in and 
out its old door. But nothing can undo the fact 
that within its walls the nature-poet first saw the 
light of day. So we gaze reverently at the unpict- 
uresque shell of a habitation, and determine to see 
if possible its interior. 

A surly dog responds to our insinuating rap on 
the door, by running around the house, piercing 
the air with short, nervous barks, thus hastening 
the approach of the good woman of the family who 
cuffs him for his pains and turns a pleasant face 
to us. 

She willingly assents to our request to see the 
old house, and we step over the threshold, the dog, 
notwithstanding his rebuff, carefully at our heels, 
and we are soon within the front room at our left, 



Her Highways and Byways. 39 

which we half believe is the apartment where 
Thoreau was born. As authorities differ, however, 
we must see the other room that claims the honor, 
and we beg the privilege. The good woman hesi- 
tates, then bursts out, " 'Tain't decent to look at, 
we keep our oats and apples and odds and ends 
there. I'm a-going to fix it up and paper and paint 
it when my son gets time, but " — 

" If we only may," we interrupt the stream. She 
smiles and relents, and presently we are over the 
stairs and within the room. Neither of the apart- 
ments is in the least interesting. The house is 
not old enough to be quaint, and nothing of its 
interior calls for a description. It is Thoreau's 
birthplace ; this is its only claim for attention. We 
pass out silently, and resume our journey. 

At every curve of the old road, we seem to drop 
some pestering care ; we are so shut off from the 
world's highway, that we have absolutely forgotten 
the gnat-like demands upon our lives. It is as if 
we were free once more with that security that we 
do not remember since childhood. And no one 
shall say us "nay" if we loiter blissfully where we 
will. The next moment — and we turn sharply 
into the broad highway cleverly concealed by one 



40 



Old Concord. 



of the usual curves. Life once more takes us up 
with a " Why have you tarried so long ? " and we 
are on the turnpike leading to Lexington. 




THE TABLET ON THE BLUFF. 



Once on the broad thoroughfare and we are in 
the clutches of the spirit of unrest again. We can 
no more resist her, than deny admittance to the air 
that enters our lungs. 



Li- Highways and Byways. 41 

"Only a bit further to the tablet on the bluff. 
What a pity to come so far and leave it unseen," 
says our companion wheedlingly — so we are gra- 
cious ; particularly as our inclination points that 
way also. 

Before we reach the bluff, we can see the guide 
board beyond, at the junction of two roads. It 
tells us that " both roads lead to Lexington." On 
the green sward underneath, lies stretched a lazy 
pilgrim, familiarly called " a tramp," who doubtless 
oppressed by the activity calling for a choice of 
roads, concludes to sleep over it. We can almost 
feel his sullen eyes upon us, querying the Fate that 
would give us a carriage and deny him one ; but 
in the shadow of the tablet telling of our ancestors' 
courage, shall we be afraid ? As long as our tramp 
moves not, we will stay and get our record : — 



THIS BLUFF 

WAS USED AS A RALLYING POINT 

BY THE BRITISH 

APRIL 19, 1775. 

AFTER A SHARP FIGHT 

THEY RETREATED TO FISKE HILL 

FROM WHICH THEY WERE DRIVEN 

IN GREAT CONFUSION. 



42 Old Concord. 

How difficult to believe that this same stony, 
dusty thoroughfare once echoed terror to the quiet 
dwellers whose homes lay in the path of the de- 
stroyer. Fancy how gay they were, those conquer- 
ing eight hundred soldiers fresh from the massacre 
at Lexington, and jubilant over the easy victory 
before them. But the retreat — was there ever 
such another! Sore, defeated, confused, they hurry 
from the concealed fires of every bush, till they are 
routed on this bluff, to scatter in a panic-stricken 
rush for their lives. 

The blood in us stirs this mild spring day as we 
go over the story learned so long ago in the well- 
thumbed books of our childhood. Not even a 
gentle bird giving some deprecatory advice to her 
mate as to the location of their first housekeeping- 
venture, nor the soft spring air playing through 
the thicket crowning the slope, can soothe us into 
our usual habit of mind. 

We wonder if it is the best thing, after all, to 
record our victories on the face of Nature, chang- 
ing the peaceful hum of the cricket and the sono- 
rous call of the rustic to his lazy oxen, into the 
clash of the bayonet and the rattle of musketry, 
and making it delightful to feel blood-thirsty. 



Her Highways and Byways. 



43 



We remark as much to our companion whose 
eye gleams, as we feel that our own is gleaming. 
She sits straight in our ancient vehicle, and says it 




MERIAM S CORNER. 



all with stiffened vertebrae, without uttering a word, 
" We cannot quench History." 

But our tramp is stirring, and we may be 
quenched, so we turn ingloriously, and rattle back 
over the stony " pike." 



44 Old Concord. 

Aftei a clay in Old Concord, no one is justified 
in surprise at coming upon a tablet. And no 
matter how many times one reads the inscription 
on one of these constantly recurring granite blocks, 
there is always an involuntary pause (unless hurry- 
ing to catch a train) in their vicinity. It is some- 
times a trifle uncomfortable to be so historically 
surrounded. At present we are in quest of all 
such landmarks. So leaving the tablet on the 
bluff and resuming our course toward Concord 
Centre, we welcome another at the junction of the 
Lexington and Bedford roads : 

MERIAM'S CORNER 

THE BRITISH TROOPS 

RETREATING FROM THE 

OLD NORTH BRIDGE 

WERE HERE ATTACKED IN FLANK 

BY THE MEN OF CONCORD 

AND NEIGHBORING TOWNS 

AND DRIVEN UNDER A HOT FIRE 

TO CHARLESTOWN. 

Set back from the road, its side close upon the 
Bedford thoroughfare, is a square, ding)- yellow 
house with a lean-to and venerable doors. It is 



Her Highways and Byways. 4^ 

picturesque from the road, its door-yard guarded 
by two flourishing' trees of a later date; and from 
this point appears well-built and able to easily stand 
the strain of another century. But turning into the 
Bedford road, the house suddenly belies its brave 
front, and seems to be on the verge of decrepitude. 
A second glance, however, shows us that it is only 
a series of out-buildings clinging to each other till 
the word to drop comes, when they will probably 
all go loyally as one. 

Here we catch a glimpse of a round, good-nat- 
ured face at the window, and we approach the 
house, and beg for the local traditions. The 
matron, we find, is pleased to tell us, and the good 
man of the house corroborates it all, the informa- 
tion being drawn from the descendants of the old 
family, the original owners of the house. Con- 
densed it reads like this : When the good wife of 
the Meriam household heard the drums of the 
approaching foe, she ran and barricaded the front 
door with chairs, but the soldiers, hungry and cross, 
pushed it open and found their way to the kitchen, 
where, sniffing the hot johnny cake in the brick 
oven, they drew it out in a trice, while two of 
their number hurried to the barn to milk the cows. 



4 6 



Old Concord. 



Meanwhile " the girls " of the family, rushed across 
the road (which then ran over the present corn-field) 
and hid in the clump of quince bushes growing 
near the site of the barn put up by the present pro- 
prietor, while other members of the household dug 




THE OLD OVEN IN THE MERIAM HOUSE. 



up from the ash-pit in the cellar the store of silver 
money (thirty dollars) there concealed and carried 
it to a place of safety. 

The milkers at the barn were presently alarmed 
by the sound of the approaching Billerica minute 
men, and they retreated in haste, without the com- 



Her Highways and Byways. 47 

fortable breakfast they anticipated. As they strag- 
gled off precipitately "Slow Meriam," as he was 
called, one of the sons ("never was known to be 
first in anything," in the words of our narrator), 
took down his old gun and deliberately aimed at 
an officer. " He has more stripes on than any of 
the others," he said, evidently intending to make a 
brilliant amende for his slowness. The British sol- 
diers hurrying off over the Lexington pike turned 
and gave the old house many random shots. One 
bullet pierced the east door. The hole has been 
filled up, but the mark made by the bullet is easily 
seen by the visitor. The old brick oven that 
baked the Meriam's bread a centurv ao- , is still 
baking a family loaf on certain occasions, and the 
quaint closets over the shelf whose doors open in 
the centre, and the "corner closet," shelter as they 
did then, household articles of various kinds. It 
is like many another old Concord dwelling, just as 
fit to live in now, as it was in the old days, and 
holding twice as much comfort as any of our 
" Queen Annes," or nondescript "villas." 

We are sorry to go, but the originator of the 
Concord grape has expressed himself willing to 
receive us, and we repair to his dwelling, which, 



48 Old Concord. 

to use a localism, "is just a piece up the road." 
" He is in his greenhouse, of course," says my 
companion, who knew of him by hearsay. 

" Oh ! I hope among his grapes," we cry. And 
we are right. There stands the old man, kindly, and 
keen-eyed, of middle height, and tough, sinewy build. 
He has the face of a scholar, a shrewd man of the 
world, and a lover of Nature. He is self-possessed 
as a ruler over a large domain, yet Fate has de- 
creed him a small pittance of this world's goods. 
He is royally happy, and not a cloud dims his out- 
look on men and things, whom he watches with an 
observant eye, prepared as few are to keep abreast 
with the times. With a simplicity that is charm- 
ing, the old man receives us, and going on with his 
work of gently pruning his beloved vines, he gives 
us quiet deference, and listens patiently to every 
word. We speak of the Concord grape, and find 
that ill health proved to him a blessing, for it drove 
him fifty years ago to this home and occupation, 
and made it possible for him to slowly evolve the 
precious fruit from the wild cumberer of the ground. 
The story is familiar to all — would that every 
one might hear it from the old man's lips. We 
are glad to remember as we listen, that public 



Her Highways and Byways. 51 

acknowledgment has been made of the value of 
the Concord grape, and, at the same time, due 
honor was given to its originator. It is pleasant to 
think of one instance, at least, where appreciation 
is paid to the living, and Fame has a chance to be 
enjoyed by the one who has earned her favor. 

The queer little house with its lean-to that looks 
as if it were built to encourage the greenhouse, is 
really somewhat commodious, as a family of ten 
children was brought up within its walls. That 
the sons and daughters tarried no longer in the 
home than early youth, must be supposed, in order 
to believe the story. 

We have, by dropping in among the Concord 
grape-vines this pleasant morning, happened upon 
rich findings, indeed. We are delighted to learn 
that so much of the vicinity of the old garden where 
we stand is teeming with traditions for us. Concord 
being the shire town, and the stages running up 
and down over this old road, quite a local business 
in the memory of our friend, naturally sprang up 
here. One must always remember that in the orig- 
inal settlement of the town, the first houses were 
built between the mill-dam and Meriam's Corner, 
on the north side of the road, up against the sand- 



^2 Old Concord. 

hill, which afforded protection from the winds and 
storms of winter, and allowed them to be more easily 
constructed. If only this old road as it was then, 
could be reproduced for us ! But the most slender 
accounts of the original appearance of the settle- 
ment, are all that remain for us. We can reach 
back quite far, however, to credible tales. The 
memory of our friend or traditions told to him 
supply much that is interesting. One French who 
served in the Revolution, lived in the old house 
we are now examining. He was a blacksmith, and 
his shop was in the corner of the grounds next to 
The Wayside which adjoins. He lived there till 
two years before the present occupant came, which 
was in 1837. 

In the corner of Love Lane, which strikes off 
from the Lexington road opposite The Wayside, 
stood a large Headquarters for the stage depart- 
ment ; the letters were distributed by the stages and 
taken up from the deputy post-office for this quarter, 
which was kept in the little square house, forming 
the main part of The Wayside, whose time of 
building; antedates all tradition. In this little house 
lived one Samuel Hoar, a man who came from 
Lincoln, a wheelwright by profession. The story 



Her Highways and Byways. 55 

goes that he lived and died in the belief that when 
he died, his spirit would pass into a white horse. 
(He was evidently trying to eclipse the former occu- 
pant of the dwelling whom Hawthorne has made 
immortal by recounting his fixed belief that he had 
found the secret of perpetual life.) His shop stood 
in the angle of the old stone wall adjoining the 
grounds of our friend Mr. B. Long years after it 
was cut in two, one half being attached to either 
end of The Wayside. 

Afterward a Col. Cogswell of Grafton, who was 
born in Mr. B.'s house and whose father was an 
officer in the Revolutionary War, bought The Way- 
side. He moved West, and subsequently sold the 
place to Mr. Alcott. 

Here lived the " Little Women " — Jo, Meg, 
Beth and Amy— and made the little old house 
a cheery home indeed ! Here Joe scribbled, and 
Amy wrestled with her fine words ; here was Beth's 
little cottage piano, and here Meg mothered them 
all when dear Mrs. March was away. In 1852 
Nathaniel Hawthorne bought the place, naming 
it " Wayside," the Alcott family removing to 
Boston. 

Old Montifuero an Italian lived on the esplanade 



5 6 Old Concord. 

midway between Meriam's Corner and Mr. B.'s 
house. He made confections and a certain kind of 
cakes, quite as popular as the " Election cake " of 
training-day renown. It is related that on a sad 
recital of the ill health of good Dr. Ripley in 
Montifuero's ears, he looked at first sympathetic, 
then brightened up. " If he die, what a lot of 
cakes I will sell," anticipating the big crowd drawn 
to the town. 

Passing The Wayside (which we do not enter, as 
it is not our purpose to tarry in spots already well 
written up) we recall the prefatory letter to a friend 
accompanying the "Snow Image " in which Haw- 
thorne wrote, " Was there ever such a weary delay 
in obtaining the slightest recognition from the 
public as in my case ? I sat down by the wayside 
of life, like a man under enchantment, and a shrub- 
bery sprang up around me and the bushes grew to 
be saplings, and the saplings became trees, until 
no exit appeared possible through the entangling 
depths of my obscurity." His son-in-law, George 
P. Lathrop, quoting this in a published article, 
adds, "Although the name 'The Wayside' applies 
to the physical situation, Hawthorne probably also 
connected with it a fanciful symbolism. I think it 



Her Highways and Byways. 57 

pleased him to conceive of himself, even after he 
became famous, as sitting by the wayside and 
observing the show of human life while it flowed 
by him." 

The Orchard House, Mr. Alcotfs home after he 
sold The Wayside to Mr. Hawthorne, is separated 
from it by a rustic fence whose present state is 
more a shadow of the past than a reality. Here 
the father gardened, held conversations, wrote his 
poems, and originated the School of Philosophy. 
The daughter opened the golden way to Fame and 
Fortune by the realistic drama of " Little Women " 
that was immediately set up on the stage of every 
quiet home-centre. 

The old house now holds a delightful influence, 
strong and far-reaching toward the solution of the 
educational and social problems of the day. 

" The Chapel " hanging to the side of the hill 
with philosophic calmness, annually re-fills the 
scholars who gather there with the year's supply 
of analytic wisdom. 

We pause beneath the knot of pines by the road- 
side guarding the home of Emerson, and this from 
"The Poet" springs involuntarily to our compan- 
ion's lips : — 



58 Old Concord. 



" The gods talk in the breath of the woods, 

They talk in the shaken pine. 
And fill the long reach of the old seashore 

With dialogue divine ; 

And the poet who overhears 

Some random word they say, 
Is the fated man of men 

Whom the ages must obey." 



And we return for answer, " Never did the 'fated 
man of men whom the ao-es must obey,' utter a 
truer note than this : — 



" ' Be of good cheer, brave spirit ; steadfastly 

Serve that low whisper thou hast served ; for know 

God hath a select family of sons 

Now scattered wide through earth, and each alone 

Who are thy spiritual kindred, and each one 

By constant service to that inward law, 

Is weaving the divine proportions 

Of a true monarch's soul. Beauty and strength, 

The riches of a spotless memory, 

The eloquence of truth, the wisdom got 

By searching of a clear and loving eye 

That seeth as God seeth. These are their gifts, 

And Time, who keeps God's word, brings on the day 

To seal the marriage of those minds with thine, 

Thine everlasting lovers. Ye shall be 

The salt of all the elements, world of the world.'" 



Half-way up the opposite gentle slope is the old 
" Minott House." The frame of this dwelling was 
on the corner of The Wayside grounds a century 



Her Highways and Byways. 61 

ago, being the remains of a barn. Moved to its 
present position, and altered to the dwelling now 
known to the town-folk, it is a place that wooes 
artists most seductively ; possessing the right pose 
on the hill-side, the proper drapery of elm-boughs 
around its weather-stained walls, and exactly the 
proportion of gentle dilapidation, to make a pleas- 
ing picture. 

The little street (Hey wood) fronting the fine old 
family mansion two centuries old of the same 
name, is identical with " Potter's Lane." 

Continuing toward the mill-dam on the right 
hand side of Lexington Street, we find an inter- 
esting group of houses, one needing special men- 
tion, the " old Brown House " ; built by Reuben 
Brown, a harness-maker whose shop was next 
toward the centre, and in whose house cartridges 
were made a century ago. A few curious bits of 
this interior give a hint of the old-time quaintness 
of the house to those who care for the study of 
such things. Passing down the cellar stairs, one 
sees a small square door in the wall, opening into 
a room by the side of the chimney ten feet high 
and about six feet broad, where the bacon was 
smoked, the fire being made with corncobs. 



62 



Old Concord. 



At the foot of the cellar stairs, a bit to the right, 
there is the same swinging oaken shelf supported 
by heavy iron chains that held the Thanksgiving 
pies and " Election cake " so many generations 
ago. Underneath it are the two beams of oak, 




THE THORKAU CORNER. 



where the cider barrels reposed. The " living 
room " with its big fireplace is the family room of 
a century and a quarter ago. The old house was 
inherited by the son, Deacon Brown ; and thirty- 
two years ago it passed into the hands of the family 
who recently sold it to the Antiquarian Society. 



Her Highways and Byways. 6 



3 



Mrs. C. tells us that Mr. Emerson used at one time 
the upper front east room with its open fireplace, 
as a study. Here he wrote many lectures and 
essays. 

1 he old house is now occupied by Mr. C. E. 
Davis, who has moved thither, by invitation of the 
Antiquarian Society, his large, oddly-assorted, most 
interesting collection of colonial furniture, curi- 
osities and relics, hitherto kept in several rooms 
in the Court House. 

Here is the " Thoreau Corner," where are grouped 
the bed, the desk, the chair and table used by the 
nature-lover in his hut at Walden and his other 
homes. On the desk lie the paper-folder and the 
quill pen picked up where it lay after recording the 
last words of Thoreau. 

No one should visit old Concord without paying 
tribute to the Antiquarian House, whose quaint 
sign in all the glory of fresh paint, swings allur- 
ingly from a cross-beam between the two old trees 
fronting the dwelling. 

And now we come a bit further up the road to 
the Unitarian Church on our left, and next to it. 
the famous old Wright Tavern. Fronting the 
little park where stands the monument to the mem- 



6 4 



Old Coiicord. 



ory of the Concord men who fell in the Civil War, 
is a lono- old building. 

A century ago, the inhabitants of Concord saw 
over the door of the centre of this building the 
sign, D. Shattuck and Co., paints and oils, drugs, 




SHATTUCK S STORE AND THE PUBLIC STOREHOUSE. 



etc., one end being occupied by Mr. Shattuck as 
his residence; the other was used as a public 
storehouse. This last addition afterward became 
Thoreau's home for a time. 

" I do not dare to look at the clock on the 
church," says our companion. " Let us ignore it." 



Her Highways and Byways. 65 

But it is striking six, and we remember that no 
voice of the church should fall upon the unwilling- 
ears of the pilgrims, even though sorely tempted by 
the rich yield of a " Concord day." We turn sub- 
missively toward home. 



Ill, 



Let us first visit the Library," so proposes our 
companion at the breakfast table. On the part of 
the humble chronicler of these days in Old Con- 
cord, there is supreme delight, having, since our 
entrance into her river-girt borders, desired just 
this hour in her Library. The order is given for 
the easy-going beast who by this time quite under- 
stands our erratic movements, and takes no little 
pride in meeting all demands upon him with gentle 
resignation, to be made ready and waiting at the 
door. 

Many of our readers know well the history of 
this ere at S'ift to the town. Through the wise 
forethought of a public-spirited citizen, esteemed 
for that sterling virtue and keen intellect that 
marks New England character, it planted itself in 
the very heart of the daily life of the people, where, 
going or coming, to toil or to pleasure, they must 
see its presence and hear the voice from its elo- 

66 



Her Highways and Byways. 



6 7 



quent halls: "Come up hither; freely take, and 
learn how best to live." 

It is impossible for the youngest citizen of Con- 




IN THE CONCORD LIBRARY. 



cord to forget the existence of the Library. Beau- 
tifully placed, on the point running down between 
two prominent streets, with a little park in front, 
that the generosity of the donor has provided shall 
always be kept open, the lawn like a bit of English 



68 Old Concord. 

grass for greenery and luxuriant smoothness, it 
appeals to the eye, and woos the senses. It is 
most attractive of exterior. 

A mural tablet in the vestibule tells the visitor 
that — 

WILLIAM MUNROE 

Born in Concord, June 24, 1806 

Built this Library 

and gave it 

with funds for its maintenance and extension 

for the use of the inhabitants 

of his native town. 

On entering the Main Hall one naturally turns 
to the left into the Reading Room admirably 
adapted to its purpose, and well supplied with the 
current magazines and periodicals. 

Here are several historic reminders of Concord's 
Great Day; a curious sketch of Concord Jail hangs 
on the wall. An explanatory note under it says : 
" The jail in which General Sir Archibald Camp- 
bell and Wilson were confined when taken 

off Boston by a French Privateer. This sketch 
was made either by Campbell or his fellow pris- 
oner during their confinement in 1777." 



Her Highways and Byways. 69 

Here also hang the scissors used by Milicent 
Barrett in making cartridges during these memora- 
ble days ; and on the opposite wall is a quaint hand- 
bill evidently circulated with its fellows to stir up 
patriotism in the young American blood, entitled, 
under a row of black coffins, " Bloody Butchery by 
the British Troops, or, Runaway Fight of the Reg- 
ulars," and having some memorial verses appended 
to those " worthies who fell in the Concord Fight." 

There is a fine, half-length portrait in oil over 
the mantel of Ralph Waldo Emerson, whose serene 
spirit broods over this realm of thought, lending 
inspiration to the students and casual readers gath- 
ered around the tables and in little groups through 
the room. 

The view of the Main Hall given in the accom- 
panying illustration, shows the alcove devoted to 
the Concord Authors. In its centre is the bust 
of the donor of the Library; on either hand the 
busts of Hawthorne and Emerson. In the fore- 
ground, stands the statue of the Minute Man, one 
of Concord's greatest works, and which she is 
never tired of honoring. Busts of Plato, Agassiz 
and Horace Mann, voiceless yet eloquent, are on 
the other sides of the Hall. 



jo Old Concord. 

Here too the very children know there is a pres- 
ence other than' the silent books, the voiceless 
statues, and the subtle influence of the place, to 
help them upward ; a wise, kindly presence that 
shall enter into the needs of each, and intuitively 
supply them. 

There is probably a larger number of books 
drawn from this Library than from that of any 
other town of its size in the United States. Even 
the infants appear to be omniverous readers, judg- 
ing by the returns of the librarian. To be born in 
Concord, presupposes a love of books, and the 
first inhalations of the air, it is said, introduce a 
yearning for the infinite ; two or three years more, 
and the urchin in knickerbockers, or the little 
maid in a pinafore, trudges serenely down the small 
walk from the street, clambers over the steps, and 
demands with a tiny but wholly self-possessed 
voice, the chosen book at the librarian's desk ! 

" It stands like a beacon on some slender prom- 
ontory," observes our companion. 

" With the life of both roads surging up against 
it," we add as we come out and pause a moment 
in the little park to look up at the building. 

" Yes ; and then each tide goes its way with its 



Her Highways and Byways. 



7i 



human interests purified and strengthened because 
of this watch-tower. 'After life's fitful fever' the 
man who thought enough of his fellows to erect it, 
must sleep well, their benisons in his ears." 

Down shadowy Sudbury Street we pass quietly, 










SU- .T^*0% 0&i*$Mfr 



MR. FRENCH S STUDIO, WHERE THE MINUTE MAN WAS MODELED. 



cross the railroad track, between sweet-scented, 
smiling meadows, follow the curve for a short dis- 
tance till we reach a low gray cottage with lat- 
tice window and broad porch, half concealed under 
spreading apple boughs. Off to the right stretch 
fertile fields; in front is the ancestral home. Here 



72 Old Concord. 

the young artist wisely built his studio in the midst 
of influences best calculated to make the divine 
art within him grow to its highest achievement. 
Here his fellow townsmen recognized the message 
that the young worker had for them, and proudly 
they intrusted to him their greatest commission. 
Here was the Minute Man breathed into the clay, 
till the rough block spoke and told the story of our 
fathers' struggle for a home and a country. 

Continuing- on the road toward Walden Pond 
we are presently entangled in a thick growth of 
shrubbery, through which the faintest trace of a 
path is visible. Here the aboriginal settlers must 
have dwelt in comparative safety from their white 
brethren's envious eyes, so shut in is it, so thor- 
oughly secluded from all haunts of men. After 
assuring ourselves over and over in needlessly loud 
tones that we are not afraid, we plunge in, bestow 
a gentle reminder on the unresisting horse, and 
give ourselves up to our determination to find the 
site of Thoreau's hut, the Cove, and as much else 
as is possible, of Lake Walden. 

A whirring in the bushes starts our resolution, 
and makes it pale a bit, but as we cannot turn 
back because of the narrowness of the path, we 



Her Highways and Byways. 75 

make a show of courage and drive on with tight- 
ened rein. 

"A woodchuck," suggests our companion, com- 
fortingly. 

We never knew what it was that disturbed our 
peace; and presently after much tearing of the 
carriage wheels through the undergrowth, and a 
corresponding amount of head-ducking to avoid 
the drooping untrimmed branches that insist in 
recklessly striking our faces, we come suddenly 
upon, not what we fondly hoped to see, but the 
railroad track! 

We look into each other's faces in despair. 
"Would you attempt it?" asks one; which one, 
shall remain in oblivion. 

' There is no place to turn off; we must retrace 
our way if we give up," says the other. 

" We have come to see Lake Walden, and the 
site of Thoreau's hut, and 'give up' as you put it, 
hasn't a nice sound." 

By this time we are over the track, and a smoth- 
ered "toot" somewhere down the shinin<>- rails 
sends us at a brisk pace tearing a trail for our- 
selves through the forest. 

\\ alden Pond, lying in a deep wood between 



76 



Old Concord. 



Lincoln and Concord, about a mile and a half 
south of the latter town, is nearly a half-mile long, 
and one and three quarter miles in circumference. 
It is beautifully located, from ail points asserting 
itself most picturesquely. Even from the railroad, 
seen from the swift-speeding car, every glance 
reveals a vision of beauty, and a flash of a blue 
lake embowered in an emerald thicket of pine and 
oak haunts one all the rest of that day. 

But a nearer and more prolonged view, such as 
one gets over a boat's side in the centre of the 
pond, convinces one that an emerald tint also 
belongs to the water as well as to the trees ; not 
so much, as some would tell us, from the reflection 
of the foliage in the bosom of the pond, as to the 
peculiarity of the water coloring itself. 

One part of the shore rises quite abruptly from 
the water edge to some fifty feet, while on the 
opposite side the height is still greater, though less 
abrupt of ascent. 

Walden has not the grandeur of a lake in the 
midst of mountainous scenery — that the few may 
visit and picture to their less fortunate fellows; 
it is a thought of God for the many, set on a 
thoroughfare, for the poor and needy, for the little 



Her Highways and Byways. 77 

children, for whoever will, to come and be refreshed 
by its beauty. It is a sweet dream of Life's possi- 
bilities in the midst of dull leaden actualities; and 
that God did give it so freely, and keep it unspoiled 
from man's improving fingers, is a cause for the 
deepest gratitude in any one who looks clown into 
its blue depths. 

Naturally a tradition hovers over its silent bor- 
ders. Before the white men came, the Indians in 
holding a powwow upon a neighboring hill, as high 
as the depth of the pond, employed much profanity 
to express themselves. In the midst of it, the hill 
quaked and wavered, and suddenly collapsed. 
Only one ancient squaw named Walden escaped 
the general ruin. 

The stones of which the hill was composed, 
rolled down to become the shores of the pond 
that now opened to let the Indians and their 
naughty tongues down to a bottomless pit. 

As the Indians were rarely known to be profane, 
or indeed to give their tongues much license, this 
ancient tradition lacks credibility in one particular 
at least. 

People there are who aver that the lake is bot- 
tomless. Thoreau, its best student and its ardent 



y 3 Old Concord. 

lover, says, " The water is so transparent that the 
bottom can easily be discerned at a depth of 
twenty-five or thirty feet." He also says, — 

" The pond rises and falls, but whether regularly 
or not, and within what period, nobody knows, 
though, as usual, many pretend to know. It is 
commonly higher in the winter and lower in the 
summer, though not corresponding to the general 
wet and dryness." 

There is no discoverable inlet or outlet to Wal- 
den but, using again the words of Thoreau, " rain 
and snow and evaporation." 

A beautiful curve, as seen from the Lake, in 
shape like a crescent, its wooded slope gentle of 
ascent, shielding him who would pace up and clown 
by the water edge, fitly frames " Thoreau's Cove." 
Just far enough removed from the transient visitor 
to Walden Pond, quite difficult of access through 
the woods, it was yet easy for the hermit poet to 
permit himself a view of his fellows, whom he was 
fond of studying with a grim kind of pleasure. 
No recluse of the friar's frock and sackcloth girdle 
was he ; nor was he sent to solitude by the pangs 
of a nature preying upon itself, and crying out 
that all the world misunderstood him. Cheek by 



Her Highways and Byways. 



79 



jowl with Nature even in her merriest moods, he 
found himself, and never a little bird tripped across 
his path but lingered to tell him her happiest 
secret. All things breathed for him their best life, 
giving just as the sunshine did, warmth and beauty 
to his soul, because he too was a child of the sun. 




THOREAU'S COVE AT WALDEN POND. 



By the shores of Walden, Thoreau lived but a 
brief period as men count time — two years and 
two months ; but in the twenty-four hours of each 
day lie passed a long uninterrupted life of thought, 
in which God alone was his teacher; he in turn 
becoming teacher to other men who necessarily 



8o Old Concord. 

must live in crowded marts, and toil in the heat of 
the day. " Like a voice crying in the wilderness " 
was his stern invective against all the immoralities 
of money-getting, and the deceptions of social life, 
suggesting a brighter day of cleanness of living, 

Z5Z5 O O J O' 

through the soul's recognizance of its own divinity. 
Thoreau never sent one into the wilderness to find 
this out; he went himself, as thus to go was the 
only thing that fitted his necessities, but he allowed 
each one to discover the royal road to happiness. 
Scorning to assume a teacher's seat, he was essen- 
tially a Doctor of the Laws of life, and the chair 
in which he was placed by willing scholars, was 
endowed by the Alma Mater of us all — Mother 
Nature herself. 

A curious pile of stones now marks the spot 
where Thoreau's hut was built by himself. It is 
interesting to note that these stones have been 
brought here singly from the edge of the Lake by 
the sympathetic hand of each visitor. Sometime, 
let us hope in the near future when those yet re- 
maining who knew and loved him can voice their 
sympathy with the movement, there is to be a more 
enduring expression than this pile, that shall tell 
the passing stranger something like this: — 




VISITORS' MEMORIAL ON THE SITE OF THOREAl's HI I 



Her Highways and Byways. 83 

Here was Thoreau ; here he lived apart from 
men those days and nights, developing in the light 
of Nature, and taught of God, when his soul grew 
apace. 

Why did Thoreau turn from the haunts of men, 
to a life in the woods? His own words tell us: 
" I went to the woods because I wished to live 
deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, 
and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, 
and not, when I came to die, discover that I had 
not lived. ... I wanted to live deep, and suck 
out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and 
Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, 
to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life 
into a corner and reduce it to its lowest terms, 
and, if it proved to be mean, why, then to get the 
whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its 
meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to 
know it by experience, and be able to give a true 
account of it in my next excursion." 

Why did he choose Walden for the scene of his 
voluntary isolation ? Hear him : " Why, here is 
Walden, the same woodland lake that I discovered 
so many years ago; where a forest was cut down 
last winter another is springing up by its shore as 



g I Old C 

: - . . the same g t is . lg up h 

t is t 

. ss : 

[ amusing 2 " - 

. ssess : 

- • - E 1 ^mess 

- — senting thai 
ther 5 - Iters i s dling, 

semi-pi - _ - - I - - 

the 1 
se was on the side oi 

st of a 

5 from the 

- 

- . ■ . . ■ _ - " si 

I " 
■ E this out nts i 

- - Lty that his ass 

I : 
- 

- - ■ - I - " " 
- _ • Part of il 5 1 



Her Higfa . 

n hand: the "be 

writi tg utensils . . 

in the descripti 
the Antiquarian H - . In short - - 

am convinced, both by faith and experience, that 
to maintain on - - :' on this earth - a hard- 

ship but a pastime, if we live simply and 
He is eful t idd I mid not ha 

one ad [living 

side that before he has i traed it I 

have found out another for self. I desire that 
there may be as many different persons in the 
Id as possible; but I would have each one be 
very careful to find out and pursue his own wa 

To interpret the message : Walden Pond - 
the human heart. - Id study her ft 

ing man; - - - and through moods as changeful 
as the shifting lights that play upon her surface. It 
is rarely that one can abide by her as did Thoreau 
— the message is sent to most of us in another 
We, looking down into the mirror of her 
clear innocence, take it thankfully, and go our v 
into the thick of the world again, helped where we 
needed help. 



IV. 



For a little time pilgrims may put aside the 
claims of the Concord River; but the days are 
numbered. Go whither one will, threading the 
rose-brier and alder-bordered lane, or traversing 
the broad public thoroughfare ; plunging into the 
sequestered spots in search of the remotely his- 
toric, or sitting at the feet of some modern sage or 
brilliant literary light — one is kept in and through 
it all distinctly conscious of the presence of the 
liquid highway, down whose silent surface he may 
glide, and find in the gentle flow of the stream, and 
the shifting beauty of the shore, that repose and 
inspiration that every well-meaning life demands 
for itself. 

An idyllic day in Concord presupposes some 
touch of the River. It is possible in launching 
one's canoe from the little landing-place by the 
Minute Man, to lose the thread of existence that 
connects one with the remainder of humanity, bid- 

86 



Her Highways and Byways. 89 

cling them a serene good-by as your bark leaves 
the shore, and floats off through the lily pads to 
revel in solitude. It is by no means a selfish 
enjoyment. You become acquainted with your 
own nature as you are shut in by the bank on 
either side, to the mirror of this shining stream 
that seems to be scanning you with the clear eyes 
of truth, and luring the best possibilities within you, 
to become sturdy realities. 

It is the gentlest of teachers, and leaves the 
pupil unconscious of being led, which is the most 
exquisite of all influences. You only know that 
uncharitableness and kindred sins seem to drop off 
and float away from you down the stream to dis- 
appear in yonder shallow curve ; you are even 
sorry that you were cross to the book agent who 
called at your door in the early morning to be sure 
of finding you at home, and you have a vague idea 
that you were responsible for that flurry with the 
cook that arose on your daily round through her 
department, that day. Before starting on this 
expedition, you were quite sure that she alone of 
all the women created, was the most trying and 
persistently evil creature ; but now, the wild beat- 
ing of your righteous indignation dies clown to a 



9 o 



Old Concord. 



sluggish rhythm, in tune with the river, and you 
are gently sorry that you gave her temptation to 
air her tongue. 

But your remorse, however salutary, must be 
o-entle. None of the stiff breezes that stir up a 
harrowed conscience to a bitter resume, blow upon 
your soul here. The liquid melody as your canoe 
glides on through the water, mingling with the 
note of the wood-bird shaping his course by the 
river, suggests hope and peace together with your 
sweet contrition ; and you slowly prepare, while 
lazily manipulating your oars, for meeting life on 
the morrow, in the proper attitude toward all men. 

For the moment you do not even care where 
you are going. The fierce spirit of unrest that 
takes possession of the sight-seer, has no hold 
upon you. In due time, you are confident, you 
will come upon the meeting-place of the rivers, 
into the sacred precincts of the hemlocks, over by 
the Island, and into stately Fairhaven Bay. You 
are content to float on and bide your time, and 
absorb all that is a part of your living present. 

There are wild, adventurous pilgrims who rush 
up and down this liquid thoroughfare. You meet 
them ; they are distressed at its placidity, and 



Her Highways and Byways. 93 

because there is nothing " going on," but them- 
selves. The shadow of the hemlocks to them is 
an insipid washed-out darkness, with not a hint 
of a ruin or buried cave to relieve its dullness. 
Nashawtuck tablet on Egg Rock is something 
like what they have come to see, and they pull up 
beside it, wishing; there was more of it. But their 
restlessness is soon over, like an uneasy dream ; 
and only the ripples caused by their departing boat, 
remain to tell that they have disturbed Nature in 
one of her most delightful hiding places. 

The Musketaquid, Grass-ground River, or Great 
River, whose waters bordered the happy hunting- 
grounds of the first owners, has its rise, through 
one of its branches, in Southern Hopkinton, and 
the other in a pond and a cedar swamp in West- 
borough, and after traversing many towns, for 
some of which it forms the boundary line, it 
empties itself, swelled by the North or Assabeth 
River, into the Merrimack at Lowell. It has a 
sluggish, scarcely perceptible current; at low-water 
mark the stream is from four to fifteen feet deep, 
being two hundred feet wide as it enters Concord, 
and three hundred where it leaves the town. So 
the historian tells us. 



94 Old Concord. 

Between these figures and topographical facts, 
lies a world of beauty, history and romance. What 
food for legend-hunter; what rich material wait- 
ing by this gently flowing highway, for the his- 
torically inclined ; what echoes of converse held 
by the immortal Three in the temple not made by 
hands, and arched with the somber hemlocks ! Who 
sails the Concord, finds these waiting for him, if his 
ears are but attuned to catch the sounds. 

Thoreau interpreted the woods and lakes, around 
Concord, with her river, to his townsmen and the 
stranger alike ; opening up new beauties where 
there were eyes to see. Another, with the love of 
one born and bred within her borders, the son 
of the revered physician, is fitted as few are, to fol- 
low the Nature-poet, as interpreter. Equally at 
home in the forest, on the lake, or the river, he is 
the best of guides, and furnished by Nature and 
training, with imperturbable kindliness and good 
spirits, he gains appreciation for his own qualities 
of heart and mind, from those who are supposed 
to be only admiring the scenery, and accumulating 
the legends from his never-ceasing store. 

We debark, and leave our small canoe fast to 
the sloping shore that runs down from the grounds 




TIIK TABLET AT EGG ROCK. 



Her Highways and Byways. 97 

belonging to the Old Manse, to resume the phae- 
ton once more. The weather-beaten house, home 
of the Puritan pastor, and, for a brief space, the 
shelter of the great romancer who lingered within 
its then venerable walls, while he recorded their 
old-time quaintness and wrote them into fame, 
looks as if Time had always claimed it for his 
own, holding the refusal before all other tenants. 

" Between two tall gateposts of unhewn stone," 
so opens the Mosses from an old Manse "(the gate 
itself having long fallen from its hinges at some 
unknown epoch) we beheld the gray front of the 
old parsonage, terminating the vista of an avenue 
of black ash trees." . . . u The wheeltrack 
leading to the door, as well as the whole breadth 
of the avenue, was almost overgrown with grass, 
affording dainty mouthfuls to two or three vagrant 
cows and an old white horse who had his own liv- 
ing to pick up along the roadside." 

As the avenue looked then, so now it presents 
the same aspect, forty odd years later. 

The old homestead of dull red color and ram- 
bling outline, with its substantial outbuildings, on 
the other side of the highway, presents to the 
passer-by the view of one of Concord's oldest 



98 



Old Concord. 



houses. On the face of the L, is a diamond- 
shaped bit of white marble, to mark the place 
where the British bullet went through on the day 
of the Fight; a piece of the Old North Bridge is 
nailed to a neighboring beam ; under this is kept 




THE ELISHA JONES HOUSE. 



the stone (one of several used as stepping stones 
when the water was high on the causeway) where 
Isaac Davis, a minute man, fell, mortally wounded. 
An old resident who lived in this house which was 
owned by Elisha Jones at that time, used to relate 
that she stood on a pile of salt fish (part of the 




AVENUE TO THE OLD M \XSK. 



Her Highways and Byways. 101 

stores which were concealed there) to see the " red 
coats march by." 

The Lowell Railroad track just beyond, brings 
us back to the enterprising present, of steam, and 
electricity. We cross it, and amble on, to turn 
presently at our left into a small lane, that takes 
us out on the Bedford road. Only a few steps on 
this, and we are brought face to face with one of 
the " God's acres " of which this old town is so 
prolific. Turning within the inclosure, we follow 
the winding road that soon leaves the cemetery in 
the distance. The way is bordered on the right 
by groves of thrifty young pines and spruce, with 
their eternal green suggesting the freshness of the 
Heavenly fields ; the left is open and undulating, 
till we reach the brow of the hill to come suddenly 
upon a rustic summer house overlooking the basin 
or hollow. Here sleep they who have toiled with 
brain and hand anions: their living- fellows, who 
will one clay follow them. 

Nothing but inspiration can result from a few 
hours' stay in Sleepy Hollow. " Their work is 
done" — the quiet sleepers' — but ours is not. 
Passed on to us is the fearful heritage of woe and 
sin and ignorance in the world ; for us, with voice, 



102 



Old Concord. 



with pen, and with hand-labor, to do what we may, 
to lessen it, and to help the Christ to be unveiled 
in each heart. 

The Sleepy Hollow seems not alone to point to 
the life beyond, where activities maimed and held 




Hawthorne's grave in sleepy hollow. 



down here, are unchained and symmetrical ; but to 
be full of the life that is of to-day, crowded with 
richest possibilities. 

Who reads their written words, should stand 
beside the silent graves of Hawthorne, Emerson 
and Thoreau. The matchless eloquence of silence 




EMERSON S GRAVE. 



Her Highways and Byways. 105 

is here, unbroken by sound of a voice. Only the 
winds play through the pines, most fittingly, for 
to each of the immortal Three, the pine had a 
message in life. 

Thoreau's grave, marked by a dull red stone, is 
on the Ridge, just across a narrow foot-path sepa- 
rating it from that of Hawthorne, and a little below 
Ridge Path. The great romancer's resting place 
is inclosed in a hedge of arbor vita?, and is marked 
on its marble foot and head-stones by the one name 
" Hawthorne." At the side sleeps little Gladys, 
aged two years, Julian Hawthorne's little daughter, 
while the beautiful boy that blessed the heart of 
his mother, Rose Hawthorne Lathrop, for four 
brief summers, rests at the feet of that grand- 
parent whom he was to know only in the life 
beyond. 

Following the path to the two tall pines that 
guard the grave of Emerson, whose request it was 
to be laid beside them, we see the beautiful bowlder 
of pink quartz — most suggestive of memorials! 
No modeler's chisel has touched it to prune its 
rough beauty. Just as it came from its native 
quarry, it was placed above the heart that remained 
through a long life, fresh as from its Maker's hands. 



io6 



Old Concord. 



No words are needed to tell the stranger, u This is 
the grave of Ralph Waldo Emerson." 

Midday finds us after a visit to the Tablet on 




THE TABLET ON KEYES' HILL. 



Keyes Hill, lunching in our phaeton, in a shady 
spot on " College Road." Over a winding thorough- 
fare, striking off near the old Barrett House, we 
have come ; not only winding is the road, but with 
constantly narrowing sides, it is growing more and 




>RIGINAL SITE OF HARVARD COLLEGE. 



Her Highways and Byways. 109 

more stony and uncomfortable for horse, and car- 
riage occupants, until at last it resolves itself into 
a respectable cart path, where there is small clanger 
of meeting a fellow traveler. This is the time we 
seize to become a disciple of William Black ; and 
never did food or a bottle of milk taste better to a 
pilgrim. 

After the lunch is disposed of, we clamber 
throuo-h the thicket, wondering how the college 
boys liked it, the turning out in winter, by the 
order of the Provincial Congress, from their espe- 
cial quarters in Cambridge, to give place to the 
soldiers. As the Professors were accommodated 
down in the village, the President being housed at 
good Dr. Minott's, the young fellows in the woods 
probably had as fine a chance for their pranks 
unseen, as could be desired. Several of the stu- 
dents boarded at an old house at the foot of Lee's 
Hill; this was burned about twenty-five years 
since. Lee was the notorious Tory, it will be 
remembered, who was for a time a prisoner within 
his own farm limits, as punishment for his treason- 
able sentiments. 

The sun is nearly down, the most becoming 
licrht we had almost said, in which to view the 



iio Old Concord. 

quaint old house to which we now drive up, after 
a leisurely circuit. But we remember that in early 
morning we have wandered bv this fascinating: bit 
of antiquity, and again at noon, and each time 
have found the old Hosmer House with its sur- 
roundings, irresistible in its appeal to our sense of 
picturesqueness. 

Set back from the road, and guarded by its 
rambling stone wall, overarched by a drooping elm 
in the dooryard, the other trees at a slight remove, 
the old house looks at one with a gentle dignity 
as if it held itself aloof from all other dwelling- 
places that must yield to the inroads of Time. As 
was observed of the Minott House, it is most 
favorably placed for an artistic effect ; all its group- 
ings adding to the quaintness of outline, and its 
weather-stained front. Within, is one ot the old- 
time gentlewomen, who, carrying her ninety years 
lightly, meets one graciously as if on the threshold 
of life ; glad to open for a new-comer her store of 
reminiscences of noted people and places in the 
old town. This is the home of friends of Thoreau, 
who grew up with him, into sympathy with nature 
and truth. 

In front, and quite near to the stone wall, stood 



Her Highways and Byways. 



1 1 



the old Governor Winthrop House. Beautiful 
oak panelings modeled from the homesteads in 
Old England, adorned this interior. When the 
dwelling was taken clown, some thirty years since, 
a sheathing to a beam, being torn off, disclosed an 





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THE GOVERNOR WINTHROP HOUSE. 



account written in chalk, of a sale of lumber, over 
a century and a half ago recorded there, covered 
and left, a silent witness of the past. 

We drive home, crossing the river at the " Red 
Bridge." The western glow drops down upon the 
shining stillness that scarce tells of a current. 



H4 Old Concord. 

But inevitably, it is running to its end, surely, 
steadily underneath. So do our two lives, com- 
pagnons de voyage, as we have been, move down 
the stream of time. Peaceful sightseeing and 
reminiscence-gathering of to-day, must give place 
to busy work and a new hold on sterner duties, 
to-morrow. Life bears us on with imperceptible 
current, yet just as relentlessly as does that of the 
river, to its end. We close the covers of our jour- 
nal marked " Concord Days." 






























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